


there is no stone (wind and water cannot wear down)

by TheTartWitch



Category: Hero - Perry Moore
Genre: Gen, i just wanted a thom that wasn't a hero, idk - Freeform, there's so much good he could do, thom is a healer, who just healed people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: basically the tags.
Kudos: 3





	there is no stone (wind and water cannot wear down)

**Author's Note:**

> it could definitely be better, but i'm tired and this is what you get. :)

When I get off the bus I don’t recognize my surroundings. The ground is grimy and cold and there’s a man sleeping on the bus stop’s bench, his back to me. 

“So, Thom,” I say to myself, pretending to be one of the League’s reporters. “There’s no chance of you becoming a hero after that. What will you do  _ now _ ?”

I have absolutely no idea.

\--

The next morning, after having slept beneath the awning of a restaurant gone out of business, I board another bus. Dad will have realized I’m not coming home by now. It’s best to keep moving.

\--

Just my luck. The bus is hijacked by three villains trying to escape something, likely a hero. A young mother is hurt badly, her head hitting the metal frame of the seats as she’s flung from her own; her daughter falls nearby. The little girl is shivering and watching the blood escaping from her mother’s head shudder from the bus’ motion.

I kneel by the woman’s head and brace myself for the heat in my palms, the twitching in my little finger. Head injuries are never good, from the little I know of medicine. This still triggers my seizures but that isn’t an issue right now. 

My palm burns against her head. The girl stops crying and stares at me. My little finger spasms violently. I count in my head, desperate.  _ Just until she’s healed, just until _ -

The young mother’s eyelashes flutter open, like she’s blinking awake. I look up, into the eyes of the girl and another, masked face. 

“Don’t take me to the hospital or let me hit my head,” I tell them, vision fading into fuzzy shakes and snaps.

\--

I wake in the dark, which isn’t that strange. I’d boarded the bus in the late afternoon, and the jacking had been the work of an evening. It doesn’t smell like the hospital, all tangy with disinfectants, but it’s too dark to see anything by glancing around. I sit up to look around better, and from the springy feeling underneath me I deduce that I’m on a bed or couch or something. Some wandering around in the dark, opening a door on one of the walls and out into the open air of day, and I’m free again.

\--

I get my first chance for real heroism when a building explodes. I’ve settled onto a park bench for the night, ready to sleep, when there’s a sound like a muffled trumpet army. A bank to the side of me, across the street, has exploded all over a family, probably a bank robbery. The older boy is yelling now, trying to pull somebody else out of the way of something flying around - a piece of rubble? A villain? - but the three other members of the group have yet to resurface from the bits of debris. I make my way over. It isn’t as though I’ll really be much in danger; I’ll heal it pretty quickly, and I should at least make sure the civilians in the line of fire are okay until the paramedics arrive.

\--

There’s a pair of heroes inside, Silver Bullet and Golden Boy, duking it out with a villain with two reptilian heads and one shaggy lion’s head. The villain’s got a tail that ends with a spike and he’s using it to keep the superfast heroes off of him, but it’ll end soon. He isn’t fast enough to keep them away forever. I just need to hold these people off until then.

There’s five of them: the boy I’d seen earlier, about my age and clutching a younger, unconscious boy; a woman, likely on her way home from work and now pinned under the rubble by way of her leg; a man and his daughter, covered in small wounds except for the girl’s blistered and glistening arms where she’s badly burnt. 

I grab the girl’s hand, absorb the pain I’m causing by moving her, and tell her father to link everyone’s hands. We huddle under an exposed bit of wall, holding hands and feeling everything heal, the energy gathering in my body and lighting my eyes white and glowing. They’re staring and exclaiming and I am absorbing, absorbing, absorbing: the girl’s burns heal over, the woman’s leg clicks back together, the little boy wakes and starts gabbling to the older in excitement, the man’s just-beginning heart condition, all of it goes into the energy in my eyes and right through me. 

The villain has somehow pinned Silver Bullet to the ground and is keeping Golden Boy distracted with his tail while he pounds one fist into Silver Bullet’s face. The energy in my eyes trembles, shudders, fights to escape and take me over, so I push it out at the villain like a beam of light. It hits the man and he shrieks as something like lightning crackles through his body. It sears my eyes and I barely keep from crying out but I manage to keep silent. It isn’t enough, though; Golden Boy hears me and stares right at me, eyes wide behind his mask, and Silver Bullet is coughing and pulling himself off the ground so he hasn’t seen yet. I motion desperately for Golden Boy to be silent, it isn’t as though I  _ want  _ televised, public record of Hal Creed’s runaway son to be everywhere for Dad to see, and he frowns but nods. I sigh and stagger back to my feet and away, to my park bench and sleep. 

\--

The next morning I’m woken by a hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. 

“Kid,” someone says, “Kid, wake up.” 

I open my eyes. 

It’s Golden Boy, looking supremely uncomfortable and awkward but not like he’s going to go away if I ignore him. 

“What?” I ask him as I sit up, tugging on my jacket to make sure it’s still got my wallet in the hidden inner pocket, Dad’s idea. He shuffles his feet.

“You helped us out yesterday, right?” He says to his feet, and I shrug. 

“Wasn’t helping  _ you _ so much as the guys trapped when your fight broke out,” I tell him, pulling my duffle onto my shoulder and starting my walk to the bus stop. Gotta keep moving and all that. “Didn’t know I could do that with the energy until I did it.”

“Well, what usually happens?” He sounds indignant. I turn to look at him jog non-powered speed at my side, eyebrows raised.

“A seizure,” I say. He jolts a bit, then straightens again.

“Why didn’t you want recognition?” He retorts, as though he can’t understand the thought. 

“My name’s Thom Creed,” I tell him. “I’m proud enough of that name and what it stands for, but I’m also on the run, so excuse me if I’d rather not be mentioned on public television.” 

Then we’re at the bus stop, and I’m getting on the bus without him. “Guess I’ll see you around,” I say, and I don’t look back until the bus has pulled away. By then he’s gone.

\--

There’s a woman on the bus on Friday. I know it’s Friday because she’s got a newspaper up and she’s reading it with the date facing me. We haven’t spoken, haven’t even acknowledged each other’s existence. 

She has something growing in her chest, likely a tumor of some sort. I don’t know enough about medicine to know how far along she is or how bad this could be, but it’s gotta be weird to tell a random stranger she’s got some form of cancer, right? 

Better to try than to do nothing, though. At worst she’ll card me for sexual harassment, but as long as she doesn’t get my name it shouldn’t be too bad. Just another mistaken statistic point. 

“Ma’am,” I lean across the seats so the entire bus can’t listen in, “I... I don’t know how to say this, ma’am, but I think you’ve got a… a growth. In your lower chest.” She hasn’t changed her expression but she also hasn’t told the bus driver to kick me off, so. “Unless you’re already aware, in which case I’m sorry to bother you.” 

She looks down. The seething black mass of the tumor hasn’t moved from its spot just along her barely-visible collarbone. 

“How do you know?” She asks, voice very low and trembling a little. 

“It’s… I can just see it, ma’am. It isn’t visible to others. It’s my… my power, ma’am.” She raises an eyebrow. 

“Really. Your power is to see lumps in a woman’s chest and call it a ‘growth’, young man?” 

“No! It’s healing, the sight is just an extra bonus so I can see what needs to be healed. That’s all I see, stuff that needs healing.” I’m desperate. She doesn’t seem to be angry, but some people, I’ve found, are pretty good actors. She could be barely holding herself in check from smacking me. 

She settles back in her seat. There’s a silence while she looks at me, then she sighs. 

“It’s cancer,” she admits. I nod. 

“I…” I was never this hesitant before. “I could get rid of it for you, ma’am? I’d just need to hold your hand for a minute, I’m pretty sure.” I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t cause a seizure like it did before, but I was also sure that if I could offer I should. This lady was well-dressed and hadn’t gotten me kicked off the bus yet, she seemed alright. She didn’t deserve cancer anyway, nobody did. 

“You think?” She says, seeming surprised.

“Yeah,” I tell her, “I’ve never done cancer before, but I’ve done burns and broken legs and stuff like that. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” And I lean further across the space to reach out my hand if she wants to take it. She does. 

My palm burns. The chunk of black stuff in her chest shakes like it’s trying to escape, but the heat of my palm and my eyes grows and the black wobbles and shrinks into nothing. My eyes water from the dissipating heat as I let go and smile at her. “I think I got it,” I tell her, “But check with your doctor just in case. I’m no professional.”

She smiles. “I’m actually going there now. Want to come along, see for yourself?”

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I was just on my way to the library anyway, to get a book to read while riding the bus in circles. Stopping at the hospital or wherever wouldn’t be much but a break in the monotony of it. 

\--

“It’s gone,” says Mila’s lab-coated physician. “The tumor, the effects of the chemo, it’s all gone.” 

Mila turns to me, excited. She’s grinning so hard it has to hurt. “Thank you so much!” 

“It’s no problem,” I pat her back awkwardly. “I could, so I did.” 

\--

Mila tries to pay me for it. I’m about to refuse, but a thought pops into my head. Mila isn’t the only one suffering, and she hasn’t even been suffering the longest. 

“How much would a cab to the hospital cost?” I ask her, hand on the wrist holding the money. Her eyes get a little wet as she counts out enough, and then a little more. 

“For you,” she says softly. “Don’t think it isn’t noticeable that you haven’t got a place to go.” So I thank her, and borrow her cellphone to make a call for a cab, and then we’re saying goodbye and I’m pulling away and she’s standing outside by the curb sobbing into her hands. 

\--

Her physician gave me a note after Mila explained what had happened to him, and it gets me access to a waiting room while a nurse goes to find a doctor to meet with me and get this whole thing figured out. When they finally meet with me, there are two. One is overjoyed at the news while the other is sceptical of me. 

“And what,” says #2, “Would you be expecting of the victims in exchange?” His voice is smooth and would be kind if he wasn’t almost sneering. #1 frowns at him. 

“Gerald!”

“It’s a legitimate concern, Mike! This random boy shows up claiming miracles are possible and is obviously not well off, and asks  _ nothing  _ in return?”

Truth be told, I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. I’d been operating off of the high of healing Mila and had rushed over as soon as possible with the money she’d given me for a cab. Maybe a meal or something? A place to sleep for the night, and I could clear out at dawn so they didn’t need to worry about me being underfoot. 

I told them as such. 

Mike looked ready to agree immediately, but Gerald wasn’t convinced. 

“And what if you can’t do it? If it was just a fluke?” He asked, his voice condescending. 

“Then I’ll leave, and I won’t bother you again. But I really don’t think it was. I felt it work. I felt the black stuff leave her.” 

Finally, after much negotiation and a brush-up on personal hygiene (by which I mean I’m given a shower and washed clothes and I’m allowed to brush my teeth), I’m allowed to visit the children’s ward. 

\--

We don’t tell the kids I’m there to heal them. Officially, I’m there to say hi and shake everyone’s hand. I don’t want to freak a kid out by having a seizure right there in front of them, so I warn Gerald and Mike beforehand about the possible side effects of my power. 

Gerald is upset. “You didn’t think to come to a physician?” He whisper-shouts. 

“Well, it’s not like they began with my power,” I tell him at normal volume. “They just happened to become more common. And… I had a reason for not going about my power.”

“And what could that  _ possibly _ be?” 

“My dad doesn’t...approve of powers. He used to talk about it all the time. It’s part of the reason I’ve been sleeping on a park bench.” 

“Oh... okay, well, we’ll keep an eye out then. Stop if you think you feel one coming on.”

Then I have to warn them about the other side effect, the light from my eyes.

“Maybe it’s supposed to be a survival thing? Healing so you’re in working condition, the light to fight off whatever hurt you?” 

“I don’t know, dude. Maybe.” 

\--

The first kid I meet is  _ covered  _ in the black stuff. She’s smiling at her friends and seems fine, but she’s got a thin layer of black stuff coating her entire body and creeping up her neck. Her wheelchair is a glittery purple and has star stickers on the armrests. 

“Hi,” I call out to her, stepping away from the path Gerald and Mike have set for me to walk over to her. She smiles at me. “I’m Thom. What’s your name?”

“Alyce!” She yelps, puppy-like, and Gerald makes a low growling noise behind me. Mike squeaks. Neither of them approach. 

“Hey, Alyce, can I ask you for a favor? Can I shake your hand?” I hold out my hand to take hers. She nods a bit, eyeing me suspiciously, but her hand quivers when she finally gets it to mine. At that simple contact she gasps. My eyes are glowing with the energy I’m getting from her; it reflects off of the spokes of her wheels like a disco ball. 

“Your eyes are so pretty!” She exclaims, and doesn’t seem to notice the way her toes are twitching with excitement and repairing nerves. Gerald is hissing air out between his teeth and Mike is making a weird muffled giggling noise. “Like milk if it glowed! Are you a hero?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m just a kid like you. Wanna try walking, Alyce? Betcha ten bucks you can do it.” She frowns. 

“But the doctor told Mommy that I wouldn’t be able to walk. That’s why I got this cool chair! It walks for me.” 

“Just try, okay? If you fall I’ll catch you, I promise.” 

She frowns more, but braces her free hand on the armrest. She seems surprised when it doesn’t shake. When her feet come easily off the chair to step forward she doesn’t say a word. She just cries. 

“Hey, Alyce,” I tell her quietly, my eyeballs still warm to the touch in my sockets but fading into the twitching of my little finger from the lack of use, “Smile, okay? Isn’t this good? Are you happy, Alyce?” 

She doesn’t reply, just cries into my clean shirt while Mike runs off to call her parents and tell them Alyce has just taken her first step since they’d brought her in. 

Gerald is busy moving me to a private room so I don’t scare the kids when everything goes fuzzy and dark.

\--

Alyce is by my bed when I wake up with her parents. They’re crying big, fat tears and when her father sees me he leans forward and gives me a hug. Her mother has collapsed into the guest chair with Alyce on her lap and starts rocking back and forth. I pat her dad on the back. 

“How is it, Alyce? Anything hurting or numb?” She glares at me.

“The doctors already asked that. I’m fine.” She grunts. I grin.

“Just checking, okay? Didn’t wanna fix it just for something else to pop up.” 

“Thank you,” says her dad, sounding out of breath. 

“Hey, it’s cool. Sorry I didn’t ask first. It was gonna spread up her neck, and I forgot to ask her permission or yours before doing it.” He’s shaking his head before I can finish. 

“Please don’t apologize, you saved my little girl.”

Her mother swings around to stare at me. “What do you want? Anything, you can have anything you’d like.”

I stare at her. They’re serious. If I asked for money right now, they’d likely give it to me. But that isn’t what I really want.

_ I want to find Mom.  _

_ I want to go home. _

_ I want to like girls. _

_ I want my dad to be _ **_proud_ ** _ of me. _

_ I want to be myself and not be afraid of what that’ll mean. _

I smile at her. 

“Can I have some food? A sandwich, some soup, something? Other than that, Alyce, maybe you guys should just celebrate. I didn’t do it for your money, you know?”

Alyce climbs up into my hospital bed with me until I fall asleep, her smile pressing warmly into my neck, and no matter how much I look there’s absolutely no black stuff anywhere inside her.

\--

The next time I wake up Mike and Gerald are coming into the room. They’re sweaty and disheveled and have obviously been running through the halls. 

“There’s a woman,” Mike pants. He points out into the hallway they’ve come running from. “She’s waiting for you at the counter. She needs your help. You up to visitors?”

“She say what her name was?”

“Ella. She says you healed her sister, and she’s willing to pay a whole lot if you’ll do the same to her daughter who’s got the same thing.” Mike grins. “You up to visitors yet?”

“Yeah, sure.”

And thus begins the longest healing session of my life.

\--

It’s been about a year since then. My seizures aren’t so bad now. I still can’t really drive, but that’s more because I’ve been recognized as a seriously prized asset of the government and don’t go anywhere without guards and a driver. I spend most of my time in hospitals, linking hands with an entire ward at a time if possible and crushing the black masses, swirls, and shards out of their bodies. I’m reserved for high-profile illnesses first: cancers that don’t show signs of getting better through treatment, full-body paralysis or terminal muscle degeneration, sometimes even comas, if there’s no hope and I get there in time. My salary’s pretty big, I guess, but mostly I live in a small apartment just big enough for myself and a dog and eat dinner out some nights. 

Sometimes I get offers for interviews, which I refuse. At this point, I’m still waiting for my dad to bust down my door after seeing my name somewhere and making the connection. Everyone I heal or has been in the room as I heal someone is buried under mountains of confidentiality paperwork, so maybe the risk isn’t too high, but I’m not getting myself too comfortable.

\--

When I’m called to take a sort of field trip to the Hero Headquarters, I run into Silver Bullet and Golden Boy just through the doors, leading a team of new recruits. Golden Boy’s mouth falls open when he realizes who I am now. Silver Bullet doesn’t seem to recognize, and jokingly chastises Golden Boy on dropping his jaw. He comes forward to shake my hand; my guards tense before I wave them off and shake it. 

My ability to sense things needing healing has improved too. Now I can feel the slight shade around the pin on his lapel seeping into his mind. It’s passive, I believe, but could worsen in the future. He steps away as I signal one of my guards to keep an eye on him. I’m not sure of the pin’s effect, but it doesn’t feel good for the man. I go through the rest of the group, shaking everyone’s hands, and I have to stop at a few.

A young woman wearing a delivery uniform and a blonde ponytail. She’s bald under the wig, a hole in her stomach, cancer growing throughout her. I can feel Golden Boy’s eyes narrow against my back as I pause, studying her. 

“Miss, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to help you out with your problem,” I tell her quietly, motioning to her belly. She stares at me suspiciously but nods. I dig a business card out of my pocket, convenient for when something like this occurs. “What did you say your name was?” I ask, and as she tells another of my guards (for legal reasons, he records the name of everyone I heal just in case) I flush the black mass out of her body. I’m wary of trying to heal the hole in her abdomen without someone on hand to safely remove the bag, but beyond that she’s in perfect health. Before I let go, I lean closer, smile, and tell her, “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be just fine,” before pulling away. She seems a little confused, but that’s alright.

An elderly woman refuses to shake my hand. “I’m comfortable with my lot,” she says, and lights a cigarette. I shrug. It’s her choice.


End file.
